Fizz, Buzz, Have A Banana
by OptimisticLady
Summary: Sherlock and Katrina try their hand at some ridiculous games... then things get out of hand. Three-shot. Sherlock/OC
1. Fizz, Buzz

"Fizz."

"Nope."

Silence, apart from the typing of Sherlock on the laptop.

"Fizz."

"I'm busy."

"You're so boring," Katrina wandered into the living room, after she had made a cup of tea. She then settled herself in the red armchair, watching Sherlock. "Fizz."

"Shut. Up," he glanced over at her for a moment, before returning to whatever it was he was typing.

"What's so important you can't give your _magnificent_ mind some rest?" she asked him sarcastically after taking a sip of her tea.

"Emailing Lestrade about the Cluedo Files."

"You mean the Board Game Case?"

"What?" he properly ceased in his typing this time to give Katrina a disdainful look. "The Board Game Case?"

"It's a pun," met with silence from the detective, and she sighed. "The case was about a string of murders committed and solved in the style of a Cluedo game. Cluedo is a board game. A board game has a case to carry the came in. Well, a box, really, but John thought it funnier to name it the Board Game Case on his blog because people would think it boring, but then it wouldn't be."

"Right," he resumed typing again. A few minutes later, he stopped entirely and slammed the laptop shut, staring out to the space in front of him.

"Sherlock?" Katrina asked. "You all right?"

He sent her a death glare.

"Did you just say my name?"

"I did indeed. Sherlock is definitely your name, yes?" she raised an eyebrow at him, trying to withhold a smirk. He inhaled sharply.

"Fizz," he then said through gritted teeth.

"Buzz."

"'Ave a banana... Katrina," his death glare turned mischievous.

"Fizz."

"Buzz."

"'Ave a banana," she put her tea down on the coffee table, then got up and went over to her bag. "We should make this more interesting."

"How?"

"We mix in the numbers version too. But..." she rooted through her bag and pulled out a packet of minstrels. "Every time one of us says _'ave a banana_, the other has to throw a minstrel and we have to catch it in our mouth. So saying _'ave a banana_ doesn't count as a number."

"No."

"How bored are you?"

"...That doesn't matter."

Katrina merely rolled her eyes at him, before opening the packet of minstrels and going to tip half of them out on the desk in front of him. She then went and sat back in the arm chair again.

"One," she then said. Sherlock eyed the little round chocolates on his desk before continuing.

"Two."

"Fizz."

"Four."

"Buzz."

"...'Ave a banana."

Katrina took out one of the minstrels from the remainder of the packet she had in her lap, and after a few seconds of deliberation, she aimed and threw it to Sherlock, who caught it in his mouth with precise accuracy.

"Fizz," he smirked as he crunched on the minstrel for a moment or two.

"Seven."

"Eight."

"Fizz."

"Buzz."

"'Ave a banana," Katrina didn't know why she suggested the strange twist with the minstrels – she had bought them the day before but hadn't eaten them. It was probably all down to boredom. As soon as she saw Sherlock about to throw, she stood up, not exactly confident in her talent to catch something in her mouth.

Yet she managed it, and then things got _really _competitive.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock?"<p>

"Fizz."

"Buzz."

"'Ave a banana!" they both cried at the same time.

"No, but seriously, we're out of minstrels. We ran out an hour ago."

"Wait, _what?!_" Sherlock went back over to the desk from the sofa and realised that yes, he had run out. He went and retrieved the packet Katrina had to find that it was most definitely empty. "What are we supposed to do now?!" he tossed it to the side.

"Keep playing. We don't stop until one of us loses."

"Or get John to get more minstrels," Sherlock suggested as he went to lie back on the sofa. Somehow, he'd gotten far too into the game, and Katrina, who was now curled up in Sherlock's blue armchair, found it highly amusing.

"John's been out all day."

"Oh. Never mind. Two thousand and seventy two."

"Fizz!"

"Two thousand and seventy four."

"Buzz!"

"'Ave a banana!"

"Fizz."

"Two thousand and seventy seven."

"What the hell are you two doing?" John's voice came from the doorway. He was most definitely confused as to what he had just walked into.

"Two thousand and seventy eight – we're playing a game of Fizz, Buzz," Katrina informed him.

"'Ave a banana!" input Sherlock.

"Fizz."

"Buzz."

"'Ave a banana."

"How long have you been playing?" John cautiously wandered in so that he could hang up his jacket on the pegs by the door.

"About an hour or so. Two thousand and eighty one," Katrina shrugged. "What's the time?"

"I've been out since three o'clock. It's nine," he looked between them, bemused. "Right. I'm going to... go and read."

"No you're not. You're going to watch porn, don't lie."

"Fizz," Sherlock said. "Come on Katrina!"

"Urgh – _fizz_. Two thousand and eighty three..."

John backed out of the room slowly.

What a time to be alive – Sherlock Holmes and Katrina Jenkins playing a game. A game that wasn't even dangerous, to do with favours, but it was in fact a _child's_ game.

* * *

><p>"Hmmm... fizz."<p>

"Twelve thousand and one," it was nearly three in the morning, and Sherlock was sitting upright on the sofa, Katrina lying across the piece of furniture with her feet in his lap. He couldn't seem to care less at this moment in time.

"Twelve thousand and two."

"Fizz."

"Twelve thousand and four."

"Buzz."

"Have a banana," Sherlock said, stifling a yawn. They'd been playing this for five hours straight, and the numbers had gotten ridiculously high – but that was Sherlock Holmes in a nutshell.

"Fizz..." Katrina said, her eyelids drooping closed.

"Twelve thousand and seven."

No answer.

He waited a few moments.

"Katrina... Katrina... I said twelve thousand and seven. Kat. Kat. Katrina. Katrina," he prodded her foot, and when she jumped and went "buzz!" in a startled voice, he began to giggle like a child. "You lose."

"Wait, what?"

"I said twelve thousand and seven. You were meant to say twelve thousand and eight. You. Lose," through her tired eyes, Katrina could see that he was grinning like an idiot.

"Oh... FUCK!" she exclaimed quite loudly.

"How about you two SHUT THE HELL UP?!" John's voice drifted down the stairs.

"NO!" they shouted back at him, before erupting into laughter.

"Good game, Mr Holmes," Katrina stretched her arms.

"You too, Miss Jenkins," he carefully moved her feet and rose up off the sofa, adjusting his suit in the process. "Do you want to sleep in the bed?"

"Nope. Because I'd make you carry me there and you wouldn't want to."

"...Good night," and off he went, with Katrina snuggling down in the sofa, quite happy to have a few hours sleep there.

* * *

><p><strong>Bit cracky, but fun to write. I've really gotten into Cabin Pressure lately. Hope you enjoyed!<strong>

**-OL**


	2. One Syllable Game

"Shall we play the strip card game?" Sherlock asked Katrina one day.

"You mean strip poker?"

"No. I mean the strip card game," he came and sat next to her on the sofa. She stared at him, bemused, before she rolled her eyes in realisation at what he was _actually_ trying to do.

"I'm not going play the one syllable game with you, Sherlock."

"Oh, come on! I'm bored, I don't have a case and I've been listening to _Cabin Pressure_ again."

A massive grin made its way onto Katrina's face, and Sherlock hissed.

"You like it then?"

"Arthur Shappey is dim," he said in response to that question.

"Yeah, I know, but do you like it?"

"...Maybe," his gaze dropped to his lap.

"You really like it. Don't deny it. It is pretty damn hilarious."

"I want to play the one sound game," Sherlock was still going to persist with that.

"What if I don't want to play the one sound game?" Katrina raised an eyebrow at him.

"But you are, right now!"

"Oh great. I'm part of a game I did not want to be a part of. How long do we have to go on for?" she asked him, sighing.

"We stop when one of us has lost," Sherlock smirked at her.

"Great..." she murmured sarcastically. "If this ends up like our game of _Fizz, Buzz_, I'll kill you. I will not try to stay eyes wide 'til three."

"Oh, you are good at this. That must have been hard for you to say," the smirk didn't seem like it would leave Sherlock's face. Then again, when was he ever not being so smug and enjoying certain pains of others?

"Why don't we sing a song?" Katrina suggested.

"No."

"I can do main verse of that Les Mis song in one sound form."

"Is that one of your par– group tricks?" _almost_. He had _almost_ slipped there.

"No. But here we go. Do you hear the peeps sing? They sing the song of mad men. It is the sound of peeps who will not be slaves once more. When the beat of your heart is the beat of the drums, there is a life that will start when the next day comes."

"...That was... wow."

Katrina started laughing as the smirk dropped from Sherlock's face, simply because of the fact she had impressed him. He had wanted to say that it was impressive, clearly, but because of the game they were playing he was currently unable to say what he wanted.

"I know," she winked at him, and he rolled his eyes.

"You're good at this game."

"Yep. I know."

"Have you played it... in the past?"

"Nope."

"Oh right. That's um... uh..."

"It's fine, Sherl, I know what you mean," she reached over and patted him on the knee.

"Sherl?" he gave her an odd look.

"Well I can't say your full name."

"Then you are now called Kat, as we do this."

"Fab."

"Brilliant."

Sherlock's eyes widened and he suddenly became very frustrated. He jumped up and paced around the room in a slight frenzy.

"We had barely even _started_! How could _I_ have lost already?!" he cried, while Katrina fell about laughing.

"Oh man. This is why I still enjoy living with you."

"Oh shut up. Our games aren't over yet. Best of three?"

"You're on."


	3. Brians of Britain

"Hmmm... Cox."

"Blessed."

"The other Cox."

John watched the back and forth between Sherlock and Katrina as they were playing at one of the ridiculous games again. It seemed as if they were having their third round of the games. The first round entailing of an absurdly long game of Fizz, Buzz, Have A Banana, the second round entailing of a slightly shorter One Syllable game.

That game had only been shorter simply because Sherlock was unable to compliment Katrina in just _one_ syllable. Oh no, she was worth more than that. That had been the excuse, and it was one that she was holding over him and would do so for quite some time.

"Brian Eno," said Katrina, somewhat smugly at that too. She then stretched out her legs from where she was on the sofa, placing her feet into Sherlock's lap. He looked a little annoyed at first, considering he had been reading a book, but then simply rested his arms on her legs and that was the end of that.

And from that one remark, John knew they were playing Brians of Britain. He realised they'd also been racing to get to the end of the radio show Cabin Pressure, where they had gotten the game ideas from. So far, they'd won one each, and this was the final round – the deciding point, so to speak.

He didn't know if there was some sort of forfeit. John hoped that Katrina would win and Sherlock would have to do something _very_ stupid at the expense of his own dignity and intelligence. Also, John currently had a bet going on with Mrs Hudson as to who would win, and he didn't want to lose out on twenty-five quid if Sherlock won.

"Epstein," Sherlock replied in a slightly bored manor.

"Isn't he dead?"

"Died at the age of about... _ooh_, thirty-three? He was The Beatles' manager." Sherlock flipped the page in his book. The book in question was _Cloud Atlas._

"Ferry."

"Froud."

"Are you two just going through the alphabet of British Brians?" John asked, raising an eyebrow as he folded up his newspaper in order to go and make himself a cup of tea. "Oh – anybody want anything?"

"For Sherlock to lose his dignity, although I'm not entirely sure you can do anything about that – only _I_ can." Katrina smirked at the detective, reaching down to the floor to pick up her laptop and place it on her thighs. She opened up the lid, logged on and resumed typing something she had been earlier.

"But I'm not going to lose. _You_ are." Sherlock seemed very adamant about this.

"Glover."

"Hmmph. Gerrish."

Katrina shuddered.

"_Politicians..."_ she whispered in distaste – like it was perhaps the worst word in the world. It caused John to chuckle a little, and Sherlock appeared to be amused by it.

"Hmm... Brian Fortuna?"

"Ha!" Katrina cried out. "He's... _American._"

Dead silence filled the living room, and the next thing that was heard was the clattering of a spoon falling to the floor.

"He was on Strictly Come Dancing!"

"He's also _American._"

"Oh... **GOD!**" Sherlock snapped his book shut in frustration. He looked at Katrina. "I can't believe _you won!_"

"And now you have to do the forfeit."

So there _had_ been a forfeit. John picked up the spoon and put it in the sink.

"Mrs Hudson owes me money..." he said cheerily.

"You took _bets_? And you bet against _me?!_" Sherlock asked incredulously. John came back into the living room with his cup of tea and merely grinned at the detective.

Sighing, Sherlock managed to calm down and lean over towards Katrina, planting a very firm kiss on her lips. He stayed there for about six seconds before pulling back. Katrina looked very pleased with herself indeed.

"That was the forfeit?" John seemed a little unimpressed.

"He doesn't like kissing me in front of you." Katrina shrugged.

"Right... so um... what was the forfeit if you lost?"

Sherlock and Katrina glanced at each other before the former hurriedly opened his book as Katrina continued to type away at her laptop, speeding up ever so slightly.

"Uhhh...?"

"Let's just say Sherlock _likes_ a certain... _something,_" Katrina mumbled, causing Sherlock to go slightly pink in the cheeks.

John was able to put two and two together.

* * *

><p><strong>And this is the end of this cracky little three-shot. I hope the obscure Cabin Pressure references pleased you all!<strong>

**-OL**


End file.
